Something Foreign This Way Comes
by scarelet
Summary: As the void between realms begins to snap and splinter, things start to slip through the gaps. When a human such as Elliot lands in the Company's midst, everyone is an unwitting player in a much greater and longer game.
1. Prologue

**Hey! Thanks for checking out my fic!**

 **It's my first Tolkien fanfiction and my first for this account (so I can bury the terrible-shall-not-be-named ones forever). Just a little thought experiment of mine that became a plot bunny of epic proportions.**

 **A little note before we begin: This is entirely movieverse but the movies don't exist in 'our' universe. I say 'our' because this whole thing will be a little AU. There will be a lot of OCs, slow build up and probably a lack of romance plot. So if that's not your thing, read anyway but you might be disappointed. Rated T for swearing and rude English.**

 **EDIT: As you can see here, I come back and edit my chapters over and over again, so if you intend on sticking around you might flick back some times to see my aggressive perfectionism at work.**

 **So here, have a prologue (I promise it's relevant to future plot-points, not including the swearing).**

* * *

The pub bar had been slowly filling with regulars as the working day came to a close, quieter than usual, as of it being almost Easter and no football being on the TV that night. And that meant the sagging sofas at the back were free all night which suited us just fine. I threw myself on the corner sofa with no small amount of gusto, jostling one friend and kicking my legs up onto the low table in the face of another.

"Evenin', lads!"

"Get your bleedin' legs off my coaster!" The man across from me squawked, waving his pint around as he attempted to bat them off the table. All I did was chortle at his ire until my legs were forced under the table by the woman next to me.

"Stop riling James up for just one second, would you?" She muttered, entirely unamused. Long day, from the sound of it.

"Now, where's the fun in that, Nat?" I asked and then tried to rifle through her handbag for sweets - unsuccessfully. She batted the back of my hand like I was a naughty child.

"The brilliant fun of not being put in the time out corner."

"Ladies, stop squabbling. You, out my seat." Came a voice from behind us, cheerful and deep. Ah, Andrew had been there, too.

"Not unless you bought me a beer," I replied, leaving the bag alone with little interest in it now. Said pint landed on the coaster on the far side of the table, indicating my new seat. "Pleasure doing business with you."

I made a show of stepping over the table to get to the other sofa, to which James made more angry noises. We settled in with more banter, trading gossip about our week - in which Natasha turned up the volume to rant for a solid five minutes about her co-workers idiocy. Trying to make quips about the karma of office working got me the look of "shut the hell up". She only managed to calm down after Andrew threw his arm around her and gave her shoulder a rub of solidarity.

At that moment, my phone started vibrating across the table. I didn't even have to look at the name to reach across and viciously stab the decline button before the uneasy looks that fell upon it could linger.

"Done something with your hair, Elliot?" Nat asked quickly from where she had firmly tucked herself into Andrew's side to eat her chocolate in peace. Nice save.

"Yeah, trimmed it again," I mumbled, reaching back to tug at the jagged edges on the nape of my neck, uncomfortable. "Thinking 'bout dying it pink in a few-"

"-The girl had gone missing outside the premises at around nine o'clock at night on Monday when she vanished from CCTV footage. Later that night, witnesses reported not her disappearance but the appearance of a large animal roaming the same premises, concern spread over a possible zoo escape. It was only when her parents reported her missing the following Tuesday that the West Hampstead Police released the following statement-"

"God, turn that depressing rubbish down, would you!" Nat shouted at the bar staff, who scowled but turned down the tv volume anyway. "Not interested if it ain't football."

"S'weird though, innit?" I nodded back at the TV where the so-called case of connected smuggling rings was still displayed. It'd been all over the news since Tuesday but there'd be no developments, just the same story of coincidences that no one could piece together. Depressing was an accurate descriptor.

"I honestly couldn't give a toss, that's always been in London, they're just throwing a hissy fit about it now that they think there's some massive trafficking ring right under their noses - like there wasn't one before," Andrew shrugged, downing the rest of his pint glass.

And thus we instantly devolved into a four-way argument about illegal trafficking for a good solid hour of our time. Andrew stood firmly on the ground that the police were oblivious while Nat argued that it was warring gangs causing it. I was of the right mind that it was all a bunch of stupid coincidences and rumours and James was going postal with conspiracy theories.

"No, look, I've read 'bout this shit an' you ain't! The police are all cosy with these smugglers 'cause they get their bit on the side from it." James' voice rose for the umpteenth time that night, slamming down his 5th jack and coke to make way for the ensuing rant.

"Yeah, just like they secretly plan to overthrow the Queen?" I snarked and cuffed his head with my shot glass, puffing myself up to yell back. "Don't be fuckin' stupid. Do you think Obama's a lizard, too? Or that the moon landing was fake?"

"Elliot!" Nat scolded, "Stop being an arsehole."

"What? How am I the arse? You don't agree with his rubbish either!" I snapped back.

"I ain't a jerk 'bout it!"

"Well, someone's gotta get through to this simple shit," I shoved a finger into James' temple, "that gunpowder plots and all that rubbish is for stories and should stay in stories."

"I am not simple!" James all but roared, wobbling to his feet and knocking the table over.

"Oi! You lot! If you can't behave yourselves, get out!" A bartender shouted, jerking his thumb at the door with an expression like thunder. The bar was silent for a moment as we all glared at him, then at each other and stumbled out the door.

"I'm goin' home," James muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets and stumbling away without a goodbye, kicking a bin over as he went.

"You should stop pickin' on him you know," Nat told me, one arm steadying herself against the pub window and the other hoisting Andrew over her shoulder. "It'd be nice to have a night where you two don't end up screamin' at each other."

"I don't-"

"Yeah. You do. Stop being an angry drunk and go home. See you later, Elliot, yeah?" She murmured, more gently. Her stare was something akin to pity as she turned away and hobbled down the street with Andrew.

My reply came too late, I was alone on the empty road. Behind me, in the pub, the babble and good cheer had resumed loudly. I glanced back inside, keenly feeling the yearn for my half-finished glass. The TV was stuck on the story like it was on repeat, playing up a short CCTV clip of the alley where that girl had probably met an uneventful but sticky end. The alley flashed with strange, bright eyes - probably the same prompt for all those panicked phone calls about escaped tigers - before the clip ended.

I turned away towards the block of flats, knowing with even more conviction that I was right and the others were being stupid. Even then, I had to blink the afterimages of those eyes away from the darkened streets I passed.

Just a news story.

* * *

It was now a slow, warm day in April, heralding the approaching summer months. The news story had been long forgotten and so had the resulting argument - as they always were with my friends. James forgave easily with some grovelling on my part, it was one of his faults but it kept me from getting tossed out of our flatshare on my arse. I'd taken up work in a bookshop - some off-brand, second hand thing on a side street next to an underground station.

Said bookshop was the hell I suffered right now with no customers, no work and no fun. It was deathly quiet, except for the constant ticking of a mechanical clock behind the counter and the pops of my bubblegum. Boring as hell.

I didn't notice the unusual happenings at first - too busy clicking the lock button on my phone in the hopes that a message from Nat would show itself at some point. When my ears popped the first time, I didn't really care. The third, I dropped my phone and strained my senses to find… something. A stray underground train? No, just a faint, vacuum-like noise.

I should've known that the sounds couldn't have been a faulty vacuum cleaner or leaf blower. I mean, have you ever seen or heard either of those in a dusty, second hand bookshop? The short answer is no, obviously, but then what would you call the thums popping in and out of the space around me?

One moment, I had my arms braced heavily on the checkout desk, eyes squinting around the tall bookcases in confusion. A bright pink bubble slowly grew from my lips and my bare knees knocked against wood, ankle boots crossed.

The next, it was like everything crunched inwards towards my chest. In the blink of an eye, with a painful ring in my ears from the next pop, the bookshop had vanished.

* * *

 **I'd be whispering "cliff hangerrr" in your ear ominously but this is a prologue, it's not much of a mystery and this OC is, in fact, a bit of a jerk so... "expected first chapter eeend"?**

 **Please give me feedback - negative, positive, I'll take it all! I'd really like to make sure what I'm writing is good or how I could improve it!**

 **Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Wow! You made it to the second chapter after all that useless fluff! As a reward, I present you with... more fluff. And some interaction with the actual Hobbit universe.**

 **I have no idea what people make of the prologue still but I'm patient - in the meantime, I'll slowly ease out some more useless fluff. Enjoy!**

* * *

It was dark. That was the first thing I knew. The bookshop was gone and it was dark, everywhere. Even though my phone had said, not ten minutes ago, that it was barely two o'clock. But now the stars were out. Huh. Far away, there were dots of flickering orange light... just over the dimly lit, grassy hills that were definitely not there before. And me? I was standing on a dirt track, outside some quaint and equally dark garden with a small, round door carved into the side of the hill; a shining blue mark engraved under the door knob.

So, basically, no sign of civilization in sight.

And then I came to the slow realisation that, no, actually, I wasn't standing. I'd probably fallen over the first instant everything disappeared. And swallowed my gum. But it all had felt so numb, all over. There was nothing, nothing there. It didn't... it just didn't make sense. I didn't remember falling asleep, or any span of time between the bookshop and there and then. There was no hazy quality to it, in fact, it all felt terribly crystal clear.

The spring night breeze, the gravel beneath my jeans, the sickly sweet smell of flowers. It was all very real and, yes, pinching still hurt.

I slowly rose to my feet, stumbling as I went; my stomach turning unpleasantly. I could finally feel the sting in my arms and the grazes on my knees. It was a cool night. No one around. There really was nothing for it but to knock at that door.

I stepped through the gate and rapped shortly on the dark green wood. The sound made my ears pop and, suddenly, they filled with the noise of chatter and laughter; of ponies baying softly somewhere close and crickets chirping in a nearby hedge. And still they rang with the aftermath of those suction-like sounds. The cheer inside stopped abruptly and the door opened a few seconds after.

"And... you are?" Came the begrudging, expectant question from the shortest man I'd ever seen... and the grumpiest. He must have been an entire foot shorter than me. And I just gaped uselessly.

"Is it Thorin, laddie?" Someone else asked, with a distinct brogue. Yet another short man appeared in the doorway, this one with a thick white beard and a considerably cheerier expression.

"Oh my good god." Was the first thing out of my mouth, as I braced myself unsteadily on the arching wall. "Tiny Scotsmen. Am I in Scotland?"

"Scotland? No, I'm sorry, you must have the wrong home, _just like everyone else._ " The first raised his voice pointedly at the others that must be inside (though the chatter resumed when the bearded one disappeared with a nod, so his words had seemingly gone unheeded).

"Then where the bloody hell am I?" I hissed. The weird shorty could worry about his house par

ty gone wrong after I knew what the hell was going on. He blinked at me, eyes focusing through his agitation and seemed to see me properly for the first time. Probably witnessing all seething five foot two inches of short pink hair and piercings; the ripped jeans, pink cardigan and exceedingly heavy necklaces. I almost felt sorry for him.

"Ba-bag end," He stuttered.

"Never heard of it. Babagund where?"

" _Bag end_ of the _Shire_. Look, I don't know who or what you are, Miss, but I've already got my hands full of dwarves making a mess of my dining room. So could you please-"

"Now, now, Bilbo, what's got you so upset? Ah... this must be the woman Balin just mentioned. Strange. I didn't anticipate _you_." Yet another man appeared - though much older, ragged looking and of seemingly normal height - hunkering down to stare shrewdly at me. I let go of my perch on the wall in surprise.

"Well, neither did I," I replied tightly for lack of other conversation. "Wait, did he- did he just say _dwarves_?"

"Oh yes, they're hosting a very merry reunion in there, we're just waiting on another of their kind."

"And... who are you?"

"I am Gandalf the Grey and this is Bilbo Baggins." The old man smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges.

No.

"That's- no- that's _stupid_ ," I bit out. What a piss poor prank. 'Bilbo' looked mildly affronted. "I'm bloody serious, for fu-"

"And so am I. Do not presume that I have lied," Gandalf said stiffly, his voice growing with a deep timbre. "I told you the truth and now you shall tell me. Who are you?"

I opened my mouth to argue, shut it, and then opened it again. "Elliot. Elliot Jackdaw."

"And where, Miss Jackdaw, do you hail from?" Gandalf continued, stepping out of the door and drawing up to his full height. I backed off a little, I will admit.

"England. Earth. Look, you _really_ can't be who you say you are," I argued, ignoring the eyebrows which rose steadily higher… like my voice. "I have no idea how I got here, I certainly never passed out or started hallucinating - I think I'd remember if there was LSD in my tea. So there's _no way_ I'm in a fictional place, with fictional people in a fictional world."

"What would have you believe this is all fictitious?" The questions just kept coming; the supposed Gandalf was not losing steam at all. Though I'm pretty sure I heard Bilbo mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "touched in the head".

"You're in a _bloody book_!" I finally shouted. I was aware somewhere that I starting to sound more than slightly hysterical. "The bloody lot of you! On a _stupid_ quest for a _stupid_ mountain in _stupid middle earth!"_

"I _beg_ your pardon?" Bilbo said loudly, looking miffed. Gandalf, however, looked deeply troubled.

"I think you best come inside."

Just like that, all the hot air I managed to build up in my rant expelled in one gust and I slumped where I stood, nodded mutely and followed him inside. As he tried to usher me into the drawing room, Bilbo called out to him.

"Gandalf! What _are_ these dwarves doing in my house?"

"They're a merry gathering, Bilbo. Go join them, get used to it, I won't be a minute." Gandalf waved his hand dismissively behind him.

"No. No. I don't want to get used to it! The state of my kitchen! They p-pillaged my pantry! And you heard what that woman said, about some mountain quest! If this is about that adventure malarkey, I won't have it!"

"'Scuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?" A young dwarf suddenly appeared in the hallway by Bilbo, who flushed horribly for a second.

"Here you go, Ori, give it to me." And yet another arrived, taking the plate and throwing it down the hallway - to where I couldn't see - obscured by Gandalf who still lingered there. More plates followed.

"Excuse me! That's my mother's West Farthing crockery, it's over a hundred years old!" I heard Bilbo cry, desperately chasing after them, only to get sidetracked by the thumping and clattering in the next room and hastened to shout at them too. That's when the song started. Gandalf ducked under a bowl and turned back to me. I realised I must have looked like the definition of constipation, with my mouth drawn tight and eyes wide. He passed me by, deigning to take a seat near the hearth.

"If it's any comfort to knowing that you're just a book character - the song... it's a little different to the books at least," I told him, feeling my face twist with bitter humour at the sound of their fun-making. "God, I must be mad. Talking to a character from a kid's book about the reality of their existence. I must be hallucinating, having a fit on the floor of the shop... could explain the memory loss."

"If that is truly the case, what makes you so sure this is all fictitious?" Again with that question. I abruptly stopped fiddling absentmindedly with my septum piercing and frowned at the floor. Distantly, I noticed the song come to a rousing finish, fuelling the dwarves with laughter until three knocks at the door drew it short. "He is here. Stay here, Miss Jackdaw. We will finish our discussion later."

"Stay? Stay here?" I squawked angrily. He couldn't just tell me to sit like some lassie dog.

Gandalf shot me a stern look.

Apparently, he could. I dropped into the nearest armchair with a loud thump and chased him with a venomous glare as he left.

The murmur of a new voice was faint and a conversation followed but I had no desire to be nosy about any of it - lest it ring too true to that damned book sat somewhere on a shelf at the back of the shop. So I sat and sulked. The hearth hadn't been lit yet, but I could see the trinkets on the mantelpiece fine by moonlight. They were very shiny, and silver, most probably. They'd make for good post-bad trip souvenirs. But I was no longer a light-fingered preteen nicking sweets off corner store shelves, where the only security was a wispy, old coffin dodger behind the counter. There were armed dwarves out there. Best not to try and filch the finery.

The voices in the hallway had dissipated at some point and returned to the dining room, but Gandalf had not come back. Surely he hadn't meant for me to wait all night? Annoyed and a little miffed, I tiptoed out into the hallway... and went to eavesdrop on the conversation anyway. I never said I followed my own advice. Though ankle boots were not, nor will ever be, prime skulking material - not that it mattered because I stumbled right into Bilbo as he came around the corner.

"Sorry," I mumbled, shoving my hands deep into my pockets and trying to affect an innocent face. He looked at me funny, like I wasn't convincing anyone, and grabbed a candle from the cabinet to his left. I watched from behind the wall of the doorway as the candle was set and they started conferring over a map. I took this reprieve to really study my surroundings, for once.

It was... strange. They looked almost normal. I could have sworn they were all so peculiar in the book. Not to say that being short and having massive, braided beards wasn't peculiar anyway. But honestly, that star shaped one definitely wasn't in the book. One of them didn't even have a beard, not really.

I only remembered I was supposed to be spying on them when Gandalf started choking on his own smoke rings and all the voices rose sharply. Arguing, they all stood, pointing fingers and making harsh statements.

" _Atkât!"_ The one at the head of the table - Thorin, he must've been - barked and stood up. Everyone fell silent, like they were standing to attention and I admit, even I swallowed a feeble noise of surprise. The dwarves stared at him in awe as he carried on, and it was at that point I noticed that I was right behind him, gaping like a fish at the table.

"It seems... we have an eavesdropper," The dwarf with the white beard from earlier (Balin, I believed) murmured. I realised that the speech had already gone and finished. I also never said I was a great listener. Fifteen sets of eyes levelled themselves with me and I felt my cheeks heat and blotch with that terrible red they always went.

"Indeed." Came Gandalf's disapproving voice. "Well. Thorin Oakenshield and Company, meet Miss Jackdaw." He gestured at me with a chagrined expression. I remained steadfastly half-hidden behind my wall. If those judging eyes were reserved just for my face I didn't want to see what they made of my clothing.

"Hi," I said. Lamely. With a wiggle of my fingers.

"Gandalf," Thorin stated gravely, to which the wizard's face grew more pinched. "You were sworn to secrecy."

"And I broke nothing. Not even the Valar could have predicted this," Gandalf snapped. "Miss Jackdaw believes us all to have come from a book. Isn't that so?"

"Oh. Yeah, sorry to break it to you but I've lost my marbles, am currently spitting foam on a floor somewhere and have brought you all to life in my death hallucinations," I announced as sardonically as I could muster - without actually listening to my own words or I'd sob myself to sleep right there on Bilbo's rug. It's a nice rug.

"And yet, not all is true to text."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The song, as you mentioned, was changed."

"It's a little changed. Well, a lot has changed. There was another song, to be sure. And I remember a blue beard somewhere here, I never forgot that detail. What else..." It had to be years since I read that story. After all, I was twenty four, my favourite childhood book was just that - a childhood book.

"There are _no_ blue beards here." A bald dwarf muttered, crossing his arms over his broad chest. And he... or his appearance, definitely wasn't in the book. I knew it didn't spare much detail on the company, but none of it was that severe. The story was light-hearted, kid friendly.

"It is as Master Dwalin says, no dwarf has a blue beard. And we all heard one song. So we are left with the knowledge that you, from another realm, have seen a book foretelling this very eve - yet it is wrong. About many things, if I am not mistaken. So, Miss Jackdaw, if it were all fictional, would not everything follow the book?" Gandalf took a puff on his pipe, looking very smug to have figured it all out, while the rest of us were still stumbling around in the dark.

"Hallucinations don't have to follow everything to the letter," I argued back, somehow feeling cross that the idea of being merely insane had been rebuffed. I took an aggressive step away from my hiding place. "They're like dreams, they change. They take things from real life and-"

"Just like books?"

"Obviously. But not all books! That book wasn't, you said it yourself!"

"All stories are embellished, Miss Jackdaw. The book may be inaccurate but it does not mean this is not real. Tell me, do you believe hallucinations work as well as this? As vivid, as logical?"

"Vivid? Yes. Logical? No. But that's okay, because none of this is logical anyway - it's just terribly consistent and life-like!" There was a moment of silence after our back and forth argument. One in which I had a daunting and horrible feeling come across me. "Oh…"

"And thus, you have come to the conclusion we have already reached. Miss Jackdaw, you have crossed realms. But the real question is: how?" And the burning stares returned to me.

"Beats me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean... you know, whatever." I shrugged, crossing my arms, uncomfortable. Wasn't it enough that I had to admit that I wasn't hallucinating?

"She does speak in strange turns." A ginger dwarf observed, as if to give Gandalf's theory his approval. The others nodded like it was sage wisdom. I was, at this point, 90% sure I looked like I had swallowed a very sour lemon. Thorin, who had been watching the whole ordeal with his own personal thundercloud - and thus trumping Bilbo as the grumpiest of the lot - stood yet again.

"Even if this woman speaks the truth, to whose allegiance does she owe?" I twitched. The whole 'woman' thing was starting to bother me. I had a name. "If she has even the slightest foreknowledge, to whom would she give it? What would she seek to change? We do not know her, Gandalf, nor what she knows. She is dangerous."

"You know Bilbo no better. But you make a fair point. Miss Jackdaw, you cannot be allowed to meddle in a realm that isn't your own. Goodness knows what effects your appearance could have already caused, for better or worse." Gandalf conceded easily.

"Well, that'd be _super_ if I knew how to get home," I bit out.

"And, alas, neither do I."

"That's great! Really. So what now, genius? You just gonna sit there, smoke your pipe, twiddle your thumbs, go on an adventure while _I'm fucking stuck here?"_ I shrieked at him, well aware I was bouncing angrily in my place. What use is a bloody wizard if he couldn't help? There were a few shocked intakes of breath.

"Of course not. I'll bring you before the White Council. Perhaps then we will know what to do with you. For now, you can stay out of the way," He announced coldly. I realised I had lost this battle and very spectacularly if the scowls directed my way were anything to sniff at.

Clenching my fists and snarling in his general direction, I turned heel and stomped as loudly as I could back to the drawing room. Where I sulked for the remainder of their meeting.

* * *

I'd soon admit, after some humbling, that I couldn't have made a poorer impression. Really, throwing a tantrum? I hadn't thrown one of those since at least two weeks previous (at a coffee shop... at a coffee machine... at a shop employee. It was progress for _me,_ okay?).

To summarise the Very Important Conversation I had gotten myself sidelined from as per temper tantrum, the dwarves found a way into the mountain and attempted to contract Bilbo as their burglar. However, as all story heroes are wont to do, he fainted at just the mere thought of the dragon. Typical that, the real life version was somewhat of a quivering homebody.

So now he sat in an armchair in the drawing room, clutching a cup of tea fiercely and conversing quietly with Gandalf. It was some schtick about Bilbo embracing adventure just like his great-something-uncle. I would have bothered to listen, but I was still fuming and pointedly ignored their existence from my little corner even when Gandalf tried to raise his voice about stories in some obvious jab at me. Like I hadn't already conceded defeat. Whatever, this was all incredibly disappointing and I actually preferred the fake books at this point.

Namely because I could put the book down and piss off into the real world whenever I liked.

Gandalf sighed heavily as Bilbo got up and walked out.

"Where is he going?" I tried to ask nonchalantly.

"To bed, I suppose. He is an obstinate hobbit." The wizard shook his head, eyeing me now that I had decided to try and make nice again. Sort of.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"He refuses to sign the contract."

"No... no, he doesn't. He signs off right away, he can't not go. The book is named after him, for god's sake." I glared at Gandalf, as if this were his fault. He took a long, considering drag of his pipe, oblivious or not caring for my disdain of everything at that moment.

"Maybe the book got that wrong. We just discussed this, Miss Jackdaw, stories are exaggerated and the world lies not in books."

"It's Elliot," I mumbled, stubbornly not replying to his obvious logic - arguments don't count if there's no one to listen to them.

"Miss Elliot, then." Gandalf smiled, not pressing the issue, and then gestured with his pipe to listen.

From another room, the living room maybe, drifted a low humming. Out of the humming came a deep, melancholic voice singing of mountains and gold, of dragon fire and tragedy. The others joined in, carrying the song to its finish with a sombre note. Very different to the tune of the earlier song.

"Well, there's the second song," I said, then smirked at Gandalf like I had expected this would prove me right. I wasn't going to mention the changes. It was my small victory.

"I suppose that was. You best get to sleep, Miss Elliot. We will venture to Rivendell at some point, no doubt I could request the White Council to convene there and deal with your plight. So it seems for the moment, you will be joining us. Though I will warn you again, do not go meddling in middle earth affairs." Gandalf stared at me, face grave. I battled down my instinctual complaint and nodded, keeping my head down as he bid me goodnight.

"It looks like we have another companion for the road, if not temporarily." Balin's voice drifted out to me from the doorway, and I looked up to see him puffing on his own pipe, the dark shapes of dwarves drifting around the hallway behind him. Hypocritical earwigger. "You will need provisions for the journey ahead, and a pony. Lucky for you, we will have sixteen. But your own things, you will need to borrow from Master Baggins or buy somewhere before we enter the wilderland."

"And how do you suppose I do that, with nothin' but the clothes on my back?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as he doled out requirements.

"You can make do - we've all had to - those necklaces will sell for a pretty price. You can sell them somewhere here, in the Shire, and buy what you can with what you make. Clothes, mainly. Your, ahem, attire is least appropriate for where we're going." He gestured pointedly at my state of dress.

"Wasn't like I was considering middle earth fashion when I left for work this morning," I mumbled bitterly, turning slightly from him and scowling at the cold hearth. I wasn't about to sell my own damn necklaces to get home, I'd borrow some of Bilbo's things and that should suit me fine. Even if he was a foot shorter than me and dressed to the nines rather than for backcountry camping.

"That's not our fault either, lass." Balin smiled, though it was barely sympathetic at best. I'd really bombed that first impression. "Find somewhere to rest before dawn breaks."

And with that, he left me to stew in my chair. The house was quiet. Once again, I could hear the crickets outside and now the soft snores of dwarves. The ringing had long abated. I considered sulking for a while more, just to spite the advice from the elderly dwarf but it was getting a little cold and uncomfortable after all - even in a plush armchair.

Many of the guest bedrooms, I discovered, were naturally taken and filled with dwarves and even the wizard. Even Bilbo's hobbit hole did not have that much room for visitors so I found myself in the living room they had abandoned. The hearth crackled on and the smell of something sweet burning still hung in the slightly muggy air. It'd do for the night - I'd done my fair share of sofa hopping in my time. So I tucked myself into the largest I could find and tried to bed down for the night.

* * *

 **Well, there's the introductions, I hope it wasn't too slow or OOC or anything. Feedback, positive or negative, would be great - I'd really like to see where I could improve!**

 **Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Here, have a second chapter... weeks later because retaking exams is harder work than I realised.** **So, updates are currently spotty but have more useless fluff - which you may recognise as poor attempts at humour because I can't help myself.**

 **Still no idea what people think specifically of my writing or anything but the follow/favourite counters keep going up so something must be okay. I'm optimistic!**

* * *

"Wake up, lass," someone whispered, shaking my shoulder. James was being a persistent arse, today. Weird.

"Go away or I swear t'god I'll kick your arse," I mumbled into my pillow and tried to roll over, groping for my covers. And promptly fell on the floor. "Bugger!"

A chorus of laughs broke out around me as I blinked the sleep dust from my eyes. I was in an old living room... surrounded by tiny Scottish men. No, wait, just dwarves. I stared up at Balin as he tutted at me, shaking his head. Ah, yes, yesterday. Still not a dream after all.

"Be quiet, Master Baggins is still sleeping in the next room. We need to leave now." Balin continued in undertone as he herded me into the hallway. It registered that the whole hobbit hole seemed spotless now and every dwarf was laden with bags and rolls of provisions.

"What? We can't leave without him." Not if I had anything to say about it.

"The hobbit made himself quite clear on the matter." Came Thorin's voice where he stood in the doorway. "If we have to transport you, I won't be weighed down. We are making way."

"No, look, you don't understand. Maybe my arrival changed something but I can fix this, if you'd just let me-"

"What did I say about meddling, Miss Elliot?" Gandalf's staff barred my way to Bilbo's bedroom. He levelled me with a piercing stare - one that I hedged all wizards trained in, Dumbledore was probably their teacher. I locked my jaw, and glared back at him.

"Yeah, whatever. Go ahead, if you want this quest to fail," I muttered, kicking at a random cabinet on my way out of the hole. Not my most mature moment, I'll admit. Great. They lost their hobbit and I lost my chance for some borrowed provisions. I was going to have to sell things after all to pay my way - if we didn't end up dead before we got to Rivendell anyway.

Outside, the sun was already shining on the hills as hobbits traversed the dirt tracks well below us in Hobbiton. I could finally see the greenery all around me, the flowers in Bilbo's garden and the ponies leashed to the fence. The dwarves must have been awake for a lot longer than I had. Now that it was bright outside, I saw that the ponies were actually right next to where I had appeared on the end of the path, and they were… tiny.

"Those… those are ponies. _Small_ ponies."

"Aye, like I said," Balin murmured absently, untying them from the fences.

"I'm taller than them."

"Is there a problem with that, lass?" He stopped to look at me.

"I'm bloody _taller_ than them."

"If you want a horse, you can try to barter for one in Bywater."

"When was this clarified? Never!"

"You were told about the ponies," Balin said stiffly, his bushy brow pulled into a frown - like I'd offended him or something.

"Where was it mentioned they were this short?" I gesticulated angrily at the height difference, hitting a pony in the face and getting an angry whinny in return. I withdrew my hand quickly.

"Have you never seen a pony, lass?" The dwarf with the strange hat asked, quirking an eyebrow at me in tandem with his pipe.

"Yes, I _have,"_ I argued, affronted.

"Then, you know… ponies are short," he enunciated slowly. There were a few chuckles. Har, bloody har.

I groaned. "That's not-"

"Enough. The size of the ponies doesn't matter, you will ride one." Thorin interrupted from the path ahead. He had already began walking with Gandalf, their mounts' leashes in hand.

"Yes, sir…" I muttered under my breath and grabbed the leash offered to me with all the dignity of someone who'd been firmly humiliated, shut down and shut up.

And we hadn't even left bag end yet.

* * *

By the time we had reached Bywater it was almost noon, and the excited chatter between the dwarves about the upcoming journey and the treasure at the end had dulled down. Why? Because I was currently holding onto the crown of the biggest thundercloud-having, party-pooping, joy-killing wet blanket with iron fists and steel teeth.

I'd just sold my entire collection of necklaces to some overtly jolly but judgemental hobbit for clothes that would barely fit me, other necessities (he chuckled to himself for over a minute when I tried to describe toothpaste), and, worst of all, a bunch of goddamn cotton and string. Boy, I wished I'd gotten that implant now. Two weeks down the line and the dwarves would be wishing that the me that had a hissy fit throw down in the bag end hallway was still with them.

So there I was, an overly heavy pack on my bag and yet another saddled on the pony I'd lovingly christened Shortstack, with a face like a tart lemon and an aura of Hate that had infused into everyone in a ten foot radius. And still no Bilbo.

"Would ye stop seethin' over there, lass, you're going to spoil the greenery," The dwarf, who I'd learned was named Bofur, called. Cue the undertone of laughter as we moved forward out of the small town.

"That won't be the only thing spoiled," I snapped back, "If we don't go back and get Bilbo."

"Oh for Maker's sake, girl, stop yer whinin'. The hobbit will be along." The big, bald one intervened. I hadn't worked up the courage to ask his name (they'd already told me, to ask now would to be to lose any dignity I had left). So I sat there resolutely (see: sulking), cheeks puffed out not unlike a rage-filled hamster until I could suppress my need to bicker and prod for answers.

"How would you know?" I failed.

"Because _I'm_ going to win that bet," He raised his voice with no small measure of smugness.

"Like Durin's blessed arse, you are!" Shouted the angry ginger dwarf from behind us. I still couldn't remember his name, either. If only life would stick to the bloody books. There was another round of loud laughter. The homely people of bywater would probably be glad to see our strange lot out and on the road as soon as possible, the way they all scowled when a dwarf acted too rowdy.

After that, we all lapsed into silence again, though this time miles more comfortable. A strange weight had lifted since the large dwarf had said about that bet - perhaps there was some hope yet.

"So… this bet," I started off as nonchalantly as possible.

"Aye?" Asked the ginger dwarf, sceptical.

"Can I get in on it?"

"You got coin?"

"No… I spent the last of it on all that cotton and string," I grouched.

"Bit of a foolish thing to spend it on, lass."

"You won't be saying that in two weeks."

"Keep your future meddling out o' this. No coin, no bet." He muttered stiffly and I felt my cheeks flush an angry red. Future meddling, my arse, I was just looking after myself.

"What if I knew the outcome?"

"From the way ye were whining just now, you don't know yer behind from yer lughole." The one from before cut in. More laughter. I got the feeling that my stay here was going to be full of jokes at my expense.

"Care to say that in the common tongue, baldy?" I said, spitefully as I could, unable to stop myself. He rounded on me with a glower.

"One more word out of you, lass, and I'll hogtie you and string you to the top of the Green Dragon."

"I'd like to see you try. I'm taller than you, shortarse." Well, now I was just steaming right along since he got me fired up. Probably to my death. Yep.

Without further word the stocky dwarf grabbed me by leg and arm and hoisted me over his back like I imagined some hulking flannel-wearing, canadian woodchopper might with a deer. The latter woodchopper fantasy was nice but right now I was a squealing, red-faced captive on the former's shoulders subject to the torment and laughter of others.

"Quit fooling around. We've lost enough time waiting on this one." Called Thorin from the front of the trail of dwarves, with his super-death-cloud of brooding. He mounted his pony with a dramatic flick of his hair and everyone moved to copy him as we left Bywater.

The dwarf dumped me unceremoniously on Shortstack who had been obediently trailing next to his own, equally vertically-challenged pony. I wobbled and decided just to lie there for a second as it trotted along before trying my thin luck with sitting upright.

"You going to ride that pony or try to swim through it?" One of the younger dwarves joked as he rode past, posture all too high and mighty - even for a prince.

"You just wait…" I growled. And then promptly got a mouthful of pony mane.

"Wait! Wait!" Shouted a shockingly familiar voice.

There was a chorus of commands thrown at the ponies and they all stopped, except for Shortstack, who had to crash into Bofur's in front to realise it had to stop moving. Jolted, I almost listed off sideways and only just managed to stop by putting my hand on what I assume to be a foot… peg? Either way, I was absolutely missing Bilbo's big arrival because of my inability to sit on a goddamn pony. A goddamn pony that I was taller than.

"Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield." I could hear the old dwarf saying somewhere up ahead.

"Great! Yeah! Woo! Can someone help me up, please?" I called, well aware that the chorus of cheering was now devolving into jibes my way. A small, rough hand grabbed the free arm erratically waving around and pulled me onto Shortstack's saddle properly, forcing me to sit upright on it, too.

And for the first time that morning, I was looking on the goddamn blessed face of Bilbo Baggins. Saviour of bad pony riders and badder adventures.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Jesus Christ," I gushed, and then fell towards him in an effort to rest my forehead on his absurdly short shoulders.

"Er, woah there, _um_ …" He caught me again, awkwardly chuckling, eyes wide. They darted from side to side, hoping for help of some kind. For him or me, I wasn't sure.

"Give him a pony."

Suddenly, my leaning post was manhandled away from me despite his desperate pleas to walk and my pony was shunted forward by the appearance of his own, shiny mount. The amount of times I almost fell off in those few seconds are embarrassing and need not be given a number… ever (six).

"Thank the Maker for yer arrival, Master Baggins, I was beginning to think the lass would never shut up about you." The bald… I really should have asked his name again by now but I was far too proud and humiliated at this point to do so. So he was now Baldy. Forever.

"Because now I have a comrade in arms against the terrible plight of riding a pony. Also, would of won that stupid bet. Also also, he's way pivotal to this story." I could visibly see the dwarves roll their eyes at the last part. Seemed like they had all become disenchanted with the idea of them being in a book in my world, on account of how apparently wrong it was. "Besides, you love the sound of my voice. It's like sweet molasses."

"Oh aye, I'll cry such a pretty tear when you meet yer mysterious end off a cliff edge." He snarked back, pretending to wipe away said tear. If I could find any, there'd be ants all over his bedroll right now - and he knew it.

A pouch of coins flew past our faces and the ginger's grey-haired brother caught it with one hand. Then there was a whole flurry of them, soaring through the air. I watched as Baldy collected his share of the bet with undisguised jealousy. Even Gandalf was profiting from this - and I wasn't allowed jack.

"No, no, wait, wait, stop! Stop! We have to turn around!" Bilbo cried out, frantic. The hell?

"What on earth is the matter?" I heard Gandalf ask through the annoyed chatter.

"I forgot my handkerchief."

"Are you havin' a giggle? Are you _seriously_ jerkin' my gherkin, right now?" I cried. What kind of sheltered pod-person had replaced the Bilbo from the books? That got me a dirty glare from a few people but I really didn't care at that point. How? How were we ever going to survive even the trolls?

"Here! Use this." I heard Bofur say in front of me, tossing Bilbo a rag of some kind. His face prompted more derisive laughter. If I wasn't feeling a little numb at our impending doom, I'd jump at the chance to laugh at someone who wasn't me for a change.

The thunderous king of buzz-killing himself stepped in and we began to move forward, Gandalf murmuring his own wise words to the hobbit. I didn't even notice Shortstack beginning to trot on again. We were doomed.

Doomed, I tell you.

* * *

 **I hope no one minds how terribly full of headcanons this is about to become - also the glacial pace it'll move at, because I love writing in minute boring detail. I'd love some feedback to see where I could improve and such and such!**

 **Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 3

**And thus exam season is over and I haven't updated in over a month - I am the best, most reliable, talented writer ever. Note sarcasm.**

 **I present you with more fluff disguised as *plot*. Props to you for reading this far, yo.**

* * *

The day drew to a steady close, the sun turning the sky purple beyond the trees. There was an easy flow of conversation between the dwarves, the air relaxed and slowly cooling. Bilbo and Gandalf talked quietly between themselves, sounding wistful about long gone fireworks. I slumped forward against Shortstack's mane, abandoning her reins to hug her neck and entertain the idea of falling asleep on her and not falling off somehow.

Riding a pony for an entire day with little pause and nothing but sightseeing a bunch of the same trees was possibly the most boring day I've had. And I'd done an eight hour shift at the bookshop on a Monday. I was sorely missing my phone, the flat, the pub, any sort of timepiece, my toilet… hell, even my job. I hadn't seen my friends and god knows if the world was moving on without me or not. Maybe it had just stopped, pausing for me to get back to it… but probably not.

Bubbling up around me was the talk of making camp in a clearing off the East Road somewhere for the night. Try as I might, I couldn't even muster up the enthusiasm to get off this pony and get some shut-eye, not even to put my two cents in. The train of ponies ended up trailing off into a clump of trees picked out by the young, blonde dwarf - why I don't know, it looked the same as any other clump of trees.

"You going to get off your pony tonight, lass, or are you going to sleep there?" I turned my head where it rested between Shortstack's ears to glare at the hatted dwarf next to me. He looked at me expectantly and that's when it hit me that everyone else had already dismounted and leashed their ponies to the trees for the night. Bofur held out a hand for Shortstack's reins which I let him have with a flex of my stiff fingers.

"Just… give me a minute, a'right?" I mumbled. I proceeded the lengthy process of removing my feet from the peg things and leaning sideways until I could put one foot down. For the next five minutes, I was stuck until I could lift my other leg over, all the while trying to look casual about the fact I still had it hooked over the saddle like it was a pose I took up all the time. It wasn't. It hurt. I never did gymnastics as a child.

When I could finally trundle over to the fire they'd set up, it was with a stiff, bow-legged waddle, some ungainly grunting and some manoeuvring around sticks and wet patches like they were a particularly difficult obstacle course. Only Gandalf looked on in amusement from where he sat on a rock, eyebrows raised - the dwarves and Bilbo were too busy slurping at bowls of stew to make fun of my predicament, thank god.

"You look rather contrite, my dear. I couldn't begin to fathom why," Gandalf spoke as I reached him, his beguiling smile betrayed by that mischievous twinkle in his eye. He leaned on his staff and looked at me expectantly, as if I could even indulge his humour while struggling out of the pack on my back.

"Don't be cute, old man. Happy campers ain't exactly my favourite pastime." I grunted, shoving the bag down and setting out my bedroll.

"And why ever not? It's a very good evening, after all." He seemed intent on making small talk. I was intent on going to bed.

"Because." Grunt. Open bag. "There are _bugs._ " Proceed to tug blankets out of bag. "There is damp grass. There is no civilization." Lay out bed. Groan internally when you realise you did not think to buy a pillow at Bywater. "No modern technology, no friends. Oh, and yes, this time it's indefinite." Throw your bag aside with a grunt worthy of an ox. " _Why. Ever. Not."_ I mocked.

"Civilization will be reached, Miss Elliot. You will be in the company of the council, soon enough," Gandalf murmured, voice lower as the dwarves finished up their dinner and began moving around.

"That's not the kind of civilization I meant. I mean one with cars and electricity, one with proper sanitation and road networks," I grouched. I had dumped myself cross-legged on my pile of blankets after my inward fit over a pillow and was now attempting to pull the ankle boots off my sore feet.

"This sounds most peculiar, and I won't pretend to even know half of what you speak." He was angling for something, I was figuring that much out. But I was far too tired to have a little word dance with a wizard.

"That's because your civilization," I added air quotes for effect, "is about five hundred years behind us. This whole schtick with the horses and the swords and the grand adventures into unknown territory? That's old hat for my world. We get to play in our big boy sandpit with guns and space and selfies."

After I had finished ranting, I realised the clearing was quieter and there were a few more eyes in our direction than before. A few of the dwarves were giving me curious stares from their perches around the fire, a large ginger one holding up two bowls in our direction, seemingly frozen in observation.

"Ah, thank you, Bombur. A fine end to a first day," Gandalf announced, taking the bowls from the dwarf. It seemed he had broken the spell the conversation had over them as they all went back to their own conversations.

"Cheers," I replied, as sarcastically as I could while willing the heat in my cheeks to go down through the power of thought alone. I took my bowl and knocked it against Gandalf's then downed it. I didn't much fancy pausing to taste what passed for stew in such a crude place. The wizard himself ate his stew with a much more refined style - probably as wizards are wont to do, eating like a dwarf wouldn't preserve their enigmas for long.

By the time we had finished our own supper, most dwarves had moved away from the fire and began going about their duties - whatever those were, I didn't care to give it much thought as long as they didn't expect me to partake. I shuffled under my blankets, too tired to care about sleeping in my clothes as they were. The fire itself dwindled, leaving the clearing darker and that much cooler. Bilbo sat closest to it, wrapped in his own blanket and staring into its embers. Probably feeling as fed up as I already was.

"This was a most enlightening conversation, Miss Elliot. I hope to look forward to more insight into your world, good night." Gandalf rose from his seat, passing his bowl off to a dwarf and wandering off to do mysterious wizard things. I, meanwhile, realised finally what he had been after the whole time. Information. Hindsight is 20/20, after all.

* * *

The morning after was a quick start, even more aggressive hustle and bustle than there had been the day before. The dwarves hurried about, repackaging their things and rushing off to perform chores. I myself had been awoken violently by the amount of them stepping over me until one tripped over my legs. He was lucky I was in such a stupor because I still had no idea who the culprit was. I could catch snippets of conversation as I unsteadily rolled my bedding back up and laced my boots: directions this, map that, timing there.

And then it was back in the saddle again, without so much as being allowed to wash my face or brush my teeth. I don't know where I would have found the water but that's not the point, really. The point was that morning breath was foul and I was still wearing make-up from the day before - my hygiene was ruined.

We made our way back onto the east road. Well, they called it road and I called it a dirt path, laughed at them with all the venom of a non-morning person and promptly got told to shut up. So there I sulked, arms crossed and arse aching with every jostle of Shortstack's back. It was becoming an unfortunate trend.

"Can we take a break soon?" I called out, after maybe three solid hours of pouting. Our little entourage was passing through another sunny field of grass and the next tree line beyond looked like a blessing of shelter and privacy.

"Why ever for?" Asked the dwarf next to me. One of the 'ri brothers, I believed; the older, doting one though I still had no idea as to the prefix of his name. I really needed to get to work on knowing their names - it didn't seem all that hard when I was a kid.

"The pony riding is doing wonders for my bladder," I replied dryly. I'd been keenly feeling the urge since about three miles back (or there about, my sense of distance was purely determined by Google maps).

"Ah, yes," He looked mildly uncomfortable, "That would be a problem. Don't mind the matter, this meadow would make for a lovely spot of lunch anyhow. I'll go see what I can do." With that, he put his pony into a brisker pace towards the front where the Important Persons were allowed to ride (see: Thorin).

We did turn out to have some sort of picnic in the shade of the tree line, as of the old dwarf's strangely kind intervention on my behalf. While the dwarves sat cross-legged next to their mounts, eating dry bread and cheeses and ruminating on hunting for a fresh dinner, I slunk off into the forest. But saying that makes it seem as though it were a difficulty to escape their presence - when in all actuality, it seemed you could just announce that you're taking a piss and stroll into the trees and be done with it. The wonders of communication.

The piss itself deserved special mention just for how annoying it is not to have a porta-potty on hand.

I returned in time to not have to bother with the packing away of the food supplies, thank god, but luckily I was there to receive some heckling before we made way.

"Did you have a nice, long lavatory break, lass?" Baldy called as he saw me emerge, a shit-eating grin just visible.

"Oh, yes, the trees and dirt were lovely," I quipped back, feeling brave enough to look him in the eye, "I shouldn't be surprised none of you took the liberty, I guess you heathens just go down your leg when you feel like it."

"I can't say the same for dwarves, but I sure don't!" Bilbo's reply came from somewhere behind a pony at the back.

"Aye, that we do. And then we ring our trousers out over people while they sleep." I stared in disbelief at Bofur's entirely serious face for a moment after he announced this, before he cracked a mischievous smile and hopped up onto his pony.

"Remind me never to sleep near you," I muttered, clambering onto Shortstack with all the grace of a beached whale. It took so long that I, again, was left at the back of the party with my unlikely ally in pissing: the older 'ri brother. I'll learn his name someday.

* * *

We ended up pulling to a stop early in the afternoon, in a small clearing next to the road. The dwarves cited something about hunting for fresh meat and that fourteen miles wasn't that bad of a distance, honestly. I just reckoned that those earlier comments about my bladder were coming back to bite them and they all needed to empty a trouser leg.

I would be proud to announce that my final dismount of the second day did not take as long as the day before. In a staggering two and a half minutes, I was on flat ground with both legs on one side of my pony. Only this time, the dwarves definitely noticed and stood around, making large and obvious bets on my falling off. Thorin made grumpy sounds and reeled off their duties, then looked at me while they all ran off with their tails between their legs like he wanted to make me do ten years hard labour.

"You know, I'm not sure our king is too fond of you," the elder dwarf from earlier told me conversationally, appearing at my side with a blackened, old teapot and a stack of cups.

"Should I be shocked? I'm pretty sure the impression I made predicted this like a brick to the face," I muttered - and then instantly regretted it. I was, yet again, mouthing off in the face of someone not jeering or glaring at me.

"Yes, yes, it did," He confirmed for me, with no small measure of bluntness. "but I'm sure the concern for our quest was rather touching." Was that… condescension?

"Dori, get that tea on the fire," Someone shouted to the left of us and then he ambled off with his stack of cups waving precariously in the air. Oh. Dori. That seemed… obvious, in retrospect of course.

I trailed after him, having nothing to do myself, and sat down near the fire. If I wasn't too proud to do grunt work in a realm that all but kidnapped me, I'd be asking for some chores just to not be the one sitting around doing nothing. But I was too proud, and I would always be bitter about these circumstances so sitting and staring at nothing was still the better alternative.

Until the hunting party came back in a wild flurry of noises and fussing and dumped a dead-eyed doe right in front of me, next to the fire.

"Oh my god!" I shouted, shoving my fists into my eyes as if I could remove the image of a dead deer scant meters away from me forever. "Warn a girl before you pull this kind of crap!"

"Oh, don't whine so much." I could hear Baldy snapping somewhere behind me, "you act like ye've never seen an animal before it goes in yer stew before."

"In my world, we don't usually parade around the dead animals we eat," I gritted out between firmly clamped teeth. I felt sick.

"And where else do you suppose we ought to prepare it?" He mocked.

"Not in front of me! I have a weak stomach!" At that, I heard someone sharpen a knife and immediately retched. Eyes still closed, I scrambled up and away from the campfire blindly. I didn't stop my wild stumbling around until the sounds of the knife couldn't reach me.

When I looked up, I was a good distance away from the fire and everyone else and had put the group of ponies between me and them. Good. I didn't want to be around those barbarians anyway. I was going to go vegan if I got back home. When I got back home.

I decided it was as good as any a place to sit down, put my head between my knees and dry cough my way through my gag reflex, eyes watering as I continued to heave up nothing.

"You alright, lass?" The voice sounded distinctly like Balin. I knocked my head back against the tree I'd leaned up against and turned to face him where he hovered by the ponies.

"I'm fine."

"You had us all convinced you'd run off in a fit of tears or sickness," He just replied evenly though I was trying my hardest to be curt and unapproachable.

"Sickness maybe, tears never." I snorted derisively.

"Oh aye? Fancy yerself a tough lass?" He smiled, taking my increased sentence length as permission to join me on the forest floor.

"Yeah, I'm a real hard man when I'm not confronted with a dead deer," I muttered, trying to find the same humour in this that he was.

"A curious thing."

"What?" I asked, when he didn't elaborate.

"Your world. For all you claim that this is old hat, you say you've never seen a dead animal." Balin mused.

"Yes… everyone wants to know about my world." I grumped, crossing my arms. But I continued anyway. "It's true. All I've seen of dead animals is Watership Down and that was a cartoon. It scared me so bad, I used to refuse to look out car windows in case I saw any roadkill. Does the dog die dot com was, like, my best friend... what?"

"You're speaking in riddles, lass." He raised an eyebrow at me, pointedly.

"Right, yeah. Watership down was a… story… about rabbits who go on a quest to find a new home... oh my god, I just realised something." It was like The Hobbit - but rabbits, and way less kid friendly. "Anyway! The rabbits die. Horribly. But you get to see it in graphic detail because our stories are told in… moving images?" I stumbled over the words, trying to explain the multitude of technology I was used to to the equivalent of a man from the dark ages wasn't the easiest thing.

"Go on." At least he sounded interested even if he couldn't understand.

"Er… cars are like mechanical carts? Except way faster… and not wooden. They sometimes run over animals-"

"You mean, like war chariots?" Balin interrupted, brow furrowed.

"No, those are way ancient. Just, think of the most technologically advanced thing you know, put it in a _peaceful_ setting and then multiply it and add electricity and motors and such and such. I don't know how cars work, actually. I just sit in them." I frowned. Wait, _did_ cars have electricity? Andrew had once told me that his car's battery had run flat but I didn't know if he was messing with me or not.

Balin looked at me consideringly for a second, still deep in thought, obviously.

"And the comb thing?" He asked eventually.

"You mean com. Stands for… I don't know. Does the dog die was a website… a er, information sharing… _thing_ that told you what moving image _thing_ showed animals dying."

Yeah. Nailed it.

"Do you, perhaps, mean a book?" Or not.

"No! Books are old, man. Websites are like the cars I mentioned." I then made a brum brum noise. It felt appropriate. Balin just frowned at me and opened his mouth to reply.

"Dinner's ready, ladies and gentlemen! If you think you can handle it," Bofur called from beyond the ponies, Baldy's booming laughter following it.

"Perhaps… the others would be more amenable to you, if you weren't so brash," Balin murmured, staring out across the forest at the campfire.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped, twisting to look at him as he pushed to his feet.

"I mean that you can be perfectly pleasant to talk to when you aren't being rude." He replied bluntly, levelling me with A Look and then extending a hand to help me up.

I followed Balin back to the fire where, thankfully, there were just roasted meats and vegetables and not any signs of the carcass. I avoided the other side of the fire, anyway, knowing I'd lose my appetite if I caught a glimpse of any blood over there. All sixteen of us had gathered around the fire tonight and the chatter was loud between mouthfuls of deer. I really did try not to think about what I was eating that night, either.

* * *

 **And endeth the chapter where everyone has an angle about our world - I don't know what everyone else thinks of those parts or how slow this is going but I'm... probably going to change it. Yeah. Interactions consisting of explaining modern things to dwarves are not the most exciting, ha ha...**

 **So, er, lemme know what you guys think or I could work it out for myself eventually, ether either.**

 **Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Boy, has it been a while. A few months probably. I have been busy for some of it but honestly I did give up this story for dead for a while. I 100% write for myself so when I lost inspiration, I just stopped.**

 **Bad form, I know. But I've found my moxy again so I decided to write some more chapters. I might have kept it to myself but there are a few follows out there for this so I'm doing my due diligence by reviving this.**

 **Here's a nice long chapter for you guys, minimal picky editing and everything.**

* * *

I woke up sweltering under my mess of blankets with my face firmly pressed into the dirt and _not_ my bedroll. This was why I hated camping. I spluttered, rolling away from the dirt and wiping at the side of my face furiously with my cardigan sleeve.

The day was already sunny and warm, odd for spring, and the dwarves were still sitting on their own bedrolls, slurping away at what I could only describe as gruel. It was probably porridge but I wasn't getting my hopes up this early in the morning.

I turned to the nearest, which happened to be Bombur, and then had to pause to think how to communicate normally. I hadn't been the most eager conversationalist the past few days, not when it didn't include insults or complaining. It made me wonder why on earth I'd gotten a job that involved customer service back home.

"Mornin'," I grunted. Good start, me. Slow progress. Bombur lifted his bowl of porridge in acknowledgement and then passed me another. It looked a little like ground up weetabix and a lot like it could use a healthy dose of sugar. I tried it anyway - it wasn't bad.

It was strangely quiet now that everyone had seemed to settle down after two days travel - the burst of excitement and energy had worn off, evidently. There were murmurs of conversation, slow going and sleepy. The majority of focus seemed to be on Bilbo who seemed rather cheery and awake - what a disgusting morning person.

"I believe we must be getting close to Frogmorton, now, at least within a day or so. I took a lovely long walking holiday over there once; it's a very nice village for the East Farthing. There's an inn I must recommend we stop in, tends to get a bit busy but the second breakfast is marvellous," He was saying to Gandalf and then the tips of his big ears turned bright red when he noticed everyone else had been listening in, too.

"What's the name of this here inn, then?" Bofur asked, voicing all our curiosities.

"The Floating Log," Bilbo replied hesitantly.

"Well, you best hope they got room for sixteen." The hatted dwarf nodded, like he'd decided for us right then and there where our next stop would be. Thorin made no effort to contradict the announcement either way.

When we were about to set off on the road once again, I made sure to linger near the hobbit as he packed up his pack.

"So, you seem to know your way around this place," I tried to approach him as nonchalantly as possible.

"I should hope so, I've lived here my whole life," Bilbo said amiably.

"Do you think there's any streams around here?" After the failed attempt at being a conversationalist, I decided to get to the point.

"The Water is due north but I shan't think we'll go near that until we reach Frogmorton - not unless you want to take a quick hike up there by yourself." The hobbit was annoyingly light-humoured this early in the morning. It really wasn't what I wanted to hear. I groaned loudly. "Why?"

"I really, really need some personal hygiene right now," I complained. Wearing the same clothes for about three days straight and not showering didn't do wonders for your smell. Nor did the lack of proper toothpaste make my teeth feel like pearls.

"You could use my waterskin but we'll be at the village soon, and then you can wash up."

"I guess so." I took the latter part as meaning that I wasn't supposed to ask for his waterskin anyway. I could do that, I was brave, I'd already gone days without a wash anyway.

Five hours later and I was beginning to feel like my constant "Are we there yet?"s were putting a strain on the company. A tenuous, murderous strain. Every time I opened my mouth, those closest to me flinched and I could hear Baldy's teeth grinding away at nothing a few ponies ahead. The dwarf with an axe in his head was clenching his reins so tightly the leather could probably crease permanently.

It was a very fun game.

"If this village don't appear in the next hour, I'm going to tie her to a tree and leave her there." I could hear in front of me, in that distinct scottish growl.

"Why, Master Dwalin, is it getting on your nerves?" Another, more jovial voice asked, one of the younger ones I knew but I all I could see of him was the fingers he'd jammed into his ears. But it didn't matter because now I'd finally remembered Baldy's name! It's not important that it took four days and someone else to say it.

"That's an understatement," _Dwalin_ replied.

Lucky for Dwalin - and probably for me and my wellbeing too - as we crested a hill we saw a sprawling collection of buildings between the East Road and The Water below us. There were a collection of cheers and sighs of relief and everyone spurred their ponies on down the hill.

The village of Frogmorton was devoid of the hobbit-holes and meadows of Hobbiton, and the tightly packed bustle of Bywater. The houses were spread evenly across the road and I could see that the small cobblestone paths towards the water lead through a small market. Hobbits meandered around the buildings, casting us odd looks as we approached.

It was obvious why, though. If you were a quaint, west country folk enjoying an afternoon walk, you'd be shocked to see some sixteen ponies pulling up into your village. Especially when thirteen of them are heavily armoured dwarves, one's a wizard, one's supposed to be a highly respectable Hobbit, and the last is some strange girl with pink hair. Now that I'd thought about it, I wasn't so sure that that inn was going to serve us.

We dismounted our ponies - and when I say we, _yes_ , I do mean everyone else hopped off theirs and I fell off Shortstack sideways - and lead them through the village, pretending not to notice the long looks. Bilbo was at least somewhat amiable, casting nervous and incredibly awkward greetings to other hobbits as he went. The ponies were left round the back of The Floating Log, where the inn's stable was far too small and made the ponies look like a pen of animals at a farming market. Kind of went with the whole country feel to the place.

The inn itself was large, though filled to the brim with tiny tables and chairs and a low bar manned by only one hobbit. The patrons themselves were few and far between, probably because it was early afternoon still, and seemed to scare themselves half to death when they saw our impressive entourage storm the place. And when I said our, I meant the tall one with the pointy hat and the ones with weapons - Bilbo and I were quite normal in comparison.

"Excuse me, Miss, do you have room to house sixteen for a night?" Balin approached the bar first, addressing the hobbit lady who had all but forgotten that she was wiping down the counter.

"Only if you don't mind doubling up," she said quickly enough, recovering from staring at Gandalf to address the dwarf in front of her.

Balin cast the rest of us a quick look, long enough for some non-committal shrugs to be given, and agreed to pay out for the rooms. Our rooms were, straightforwardly, two through to nine and we were given a set of keys - though none of them were labelled so how we were to tell the differences I didn't know.

"You can go get settled in now, if you want. We start serving afternoon tea soon, and then dinner is at six. I'll bring you all some fresh linens in a jiffy." The girl smiled congenially, counting her coin with admiring eyes.

With that, there was a hustle and bustle that I was caught up in - one I didn't understand at all, only that we were outside with the ponies and my arms were being laden with packs and bags. Through the inn I was herded and up the stairs, where our troop drew to a halt on the cramped landing and the arguments about who roomed with who began.

"I would like to room with Mister Gandalf!"

"Nonsense, Ori. The wizard chooses whatever he pleases, you'll share with me."

"And then who will I room with?"

"Bombur."

"He snores!"

"Aye, and so do you but we didn't want to tell you, in case you got your knickers in a twist."

"Can you just decide already, my arms are way tired," I grouched loudly from behind my armful of bags and listened as the rest of them went quiet before breaking out into furious whispers. Try as I might, I could only hear snatches of "improper"s and "wouldn't do"s behind the towers of saddlebacks. Didn't sound like a resolution to me. "Yeah, that didn't mean argue more quietly."

Balin rose his head from their cuddle huddle to tell me to "hush" before they went back to their quiet squabbling. What was this? The Hallway of No Girls Allowed? Sounded like something James would have made up about his house years ago - before we barged in anyway. And _that_ sounded like a good plan right now.

I shoved at the nearest door with my foot, glared when I realised I didn't have the key, and tried to muscle my way into their discussion with the force of my height and the bags in my arms to grab said key from Balin.

"Oi!"

"What d'you think yer doin', lass?!"

"That was my foot!"

"I wasn't kidding," I grunted as I shoved Bofur out the way with a well-aimed swing of a pack, "I'm going to put these bags down and it'll either be in a room or on your heads." There was more shouting as I continued to barge through the group down the narrow corridor to Balin who covered his face with a gloved hand like he wanted to be anywhere but this shouting mess of dwarves and saddlebags.

"Oh for heaven's sake, what on earth is going on up there?" called Gandalf from the bottom of the stairs behind us - to which the dwarves' voices grew in an attempt to tattle on me as I crushed more toes with my heeled boots.

"Just take the forsaken key, lass, and get out of our hair. I've had quite enough of you for one day," Balin said sharply and thrust the keys at me, giving me a rough shove on my way towards a door. I only kept the bags from falling because of the convenient door in my face. I juggled the pile until I could unlock the door and stumble inside, where I threw everything on the closest bed without care.

Finally. My arms were free.

The dwarves were still arguing and complaining outside - and probably hadn't made any progress on their rooming situation because I still had the whole ring of keys. I should give them back - or collapse on the other bed, bedsheets or not. I then remembered that with the state of affairs being what they had been, I'd probably rub off layers of dirt onto the mattress if I didn't have a bath first. And wasn't that an attractive thought?

When I waddled back out of the room, the dwarves had mostly split off into groups down the hallway, although I could see Thorin at the end glaring standoffishly at Bilbo and Balin. I didn't even get a breath out to annoy anyone before Dwalin plucked the keys from my hand and sauntered off down the hallway towards them. Fine. I'd go have my bath without my room key, then.

Downstairs, passing a disgruntled looking Gandalf on the stairs whose poor pointy hat was crushed against the ceiling, I found that the inn was slowly filling with more hobbits for afternoon tea. The hobbit lady was furiously ferrying out scones and tea cakes to those sat round the bar when I approached. She, and the other hobbits there, looked up in surprise.

"Can I help you, miss?" She asked, eyes straying to my hair and nose ring before snapping back to mine.

"Do you have any baths?" I replied - and wondered if I'd worded that correctly. I knew this was more like the renaissance but I really hoped she didn't stick me in a public bath like the Romans had.

"I…" The lady frowned, obviously thinking.

In her silence I felt myself twitching under the stares on my strange appearance. Suddenly, my bright ideas of rebellion against my estranged mother didn't seem too bright now.

"I could draw one up for you in the evening?" She phrased it like a question, obviously unsure but I nodded quickly anyway. I really didn't want a bath so late but… I wasn't about to argue with curious looks pressing into my back - appearing ungrateful and starting an argument would hardly make my face more forgettable.

"Good. Yeah, great. I'll just uh… back to my room," I babbled uselessly and then scrambled back up the stairs towards the dwarves.

Surprisingly, I found the hallway empty except for Gandalf and Thorin who were talking quietly at the end, bereft of the packs and bags and bedrolls that had plagued the rest of us. Gandalf's hat had yet to recover from Hobbit ceilings. It looked like a serious conversation. I didn't care.

"Can I have my room key back now?" I hollered down at them, cupping my hands like it'd help me be more loud.

The immediate response was their glares and various groans and "shut up"s from doorways. Gandalf held out the last key on the ring towards me - which was for an awkwardly long time when I had to walk all the way down the hall to get to it.

"Will you not be staying here, tonight?" Thorin looked up at the wizard, frowning.

"I have business to attend to," Gandalf replied evenly and didn't bother to elaborate. Thorin obviously wasn't supposed to ask for an explanation but he was about to anyway from the way his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

While their stilted conversation might have been entertaining - I had a bed to rub dirt into with my face.

* * *

"She's asleep…"

"Don't worry yer head 'bout it - a swift kick'll wake her right up!"

"Excuse me?"

"Go on, works like a charm every time."

"I don't think it does."

"Whozzit…" I drooled into my bed, distantly wondering why it was so short and bereft of covers.

"Would you look at that, works so well you only had to think 'bout kickin' her."

"Funny."

I opened my eyes at the other, vaguely familiar voices to see a weird, plain room that was the size of something out of Alice in Wonderland. There were even short people in the doorway.

Wait.

"Oh. Dwarves…" I grumbled, eyeing Bofur's stupid hat with a venomous glare.

"And a hobbit," he added cheerfully, patting the air above the small woman next to him. I blinked at her twice. Curly hair, red cheeks, arms full of linen sheets.

"Oh! You!" I cried, sitting up and pointing at her. "You're! You're… I never got your name."

"Hilda," she smiled tightly at me and eyed the dwarf next to her.

"Right, the bed stuff." I scrambled off the bed and wiped it down like it would cover the fact that three days worth of dirt and makeup had just been smudged over it - and it wasn't like they had Fairy Liquid on hand to get rid of it.

"And your bath," Hilda added, bustling past me and folding the sheets expertly over the bed. I frowned and glanced out the small window where twilight was settling over the village outside.

"A bath, ey? I suppose you'll be adding that to our tab?" Bofur asked in amusement from the doorway. I froze. Did… bathing cost money?

"Yes?" I squeaked out, not turning to face him.

"It was already on your tab." I heard Hilda mutter under her breath as she straightened up from the bed. She turned a winning smile on me. "Shall we go fix up your bath now?"

I blinked and nodded slowly and like that I'd been hustled past Bofur, down the stairs and into the private quarters at the back of the inn before I'd really had a chance to take in anything.

"I feel like I'm being carted around a lot today," I frowned and glanced around the small room stocked well with barrels and other preserves. There was a tin-looking bath in the middle and a bright fireplace at the back.

"Hmm, because of those dwarves?" Hilda asked, grabbing a pot of water from above the fire and tipping it into the half full bath.

"You don't sound too fond."

"Five minutes at my bar and one of them managed to pour a whole pint of ale all over it." She sounded amused, at least. If we'd all gotten kicked out because of their rowdy behaviour, I'd be dumping all of their clothes in the Water.

"Yeah, that's them alright. Heathens, lot of 'em." I smirked at her and she chuckled back.

"You missed dinner, you know - and afternoon tea. If you wanted to catch up on all of that, I'd add that to their tab, as well," Hilda said with an innocent air, looking up at me as she finished filling the tin bath up.

"Sounds like a plan."

"Your bath's done, dear. I left you some lavender oil and a cloth." She cracked her back as she stood and passed by me, "I'll go stand guard outside - gives me a chance to not do any work for once."

I watched as she closed the tiny door behind her and left me alone in the warm, dim room, dazed by the first real conversation I'd had with anyone - a genuine conversation without any snarkiness. It felt weird.

What felt weirder was undressing and getting into a small metal bath in a room that had obviously been fashioned into a pantry of some sort when out front there were dwarves and hobbits getting raucously drunk. It didn't feel all that private. Either way, it still felt good to sink into warm water and scrub away at layers of dirt and sweat.

I was carefully kneeling in the tub and dunking my face and hair in to scrub away at them when there was a knock at the door and Hilda came back in.

"You Men take an awful long time to bathe," She raised an eyebrow at me even as I scrambled to hide myself.

"What? Men?" I furrowed my brow at her over the rim of the bath.

"Well, you're a bit tall for a dwarf, aren't you?"

"Oh, yeah, totally. I'm Men." Whatever that meant.

"Don't mind me, your _dwarf_ friends need another barrel of ale, apparently." Hilda tutted to herself and strode over to one of the shelves and hefted one onto her shoulder. Forgetting myself, I sat upright in the tub and gaped openly at her.

"No… not friends, just… travelling companions."

"If you're of Man, why is your hair pink?" She asked abruptly.

"I- I'm from the south. The really, really south south." I babbled uselessly, still staring at her while she evenly met my gaze.

"Really? I heard Men from those lands were…" Her eyes darted over to me and she stopped, rosy cheeks turning even redder, "Nevermind, Rufus needs the barrel of ale before he comes in 'ere himself."

Her sudden departure spurred me into action - frantically spilling out of the bath and more reluctantly piecing together my previous outfit. It was only at the last second I remembered to remove my septum and earrings and furiously rub them clean under the water.

Outside, Hilda was leaning against a wall watching a few other hobbits fuss around with the kitchen and ferry what looked to be supper and far too much alcohol out to the front. She losely held a pint of beer and a plate of fish and… potato?

"Your supper awaits." She smiled sweetly and passed them over, though I could see her eyes darting curiously over my face still and, if I read it right, even a little stiffly. "Now, I really should go back on the bar."

"Right…" I frowned as she wandered off and awkwardly made my way out of the kitchen as well. The well-lit inn was filled with customers now, huddled around the bar and tables and fireplace, laughing raucously and drunkenly. Even then, it didn't take me long to spot the rowdy group of dwarves making headway through an alarming amount of flagons of questionable substance.

"Well! If it isn't Wee Miss Priss!" Bofur called me over as I awkwardly waded through chest-height hobbits. The rest of them turned at once and grinned with tipsy lopsidedness, obviously delighting in the fact that I was being such a prude.

"How long did it take you to come up with that name?" I asked, settling myself on their table with a little rough elbowing and stealing of one unfortunate hobbit's stool.

"Thought of it just now, in fact. I'm clever like that, you see." He tapped his pipe against his ale with a conspiratorial smirk.

"Huh, could've fooled me." I snorted. There was a round of louder laughter that continued to be their trend well into the night as I fended off thieving hands from my precious dinner and lonesome pint.

Somehow, despite the genial conversation I had had with Hilda - the only other, seemingly like-minded woman I had seen let alone talked to here - it felt nothing like the relaxation of settling into the dwarves' crude banter. I didn't even mind being the butt of the jokes. It reminded me of home.

* * *

 **I totally lied at the beginning of this chapter. I'm going to edit the balls out of all of these pre-established chapters now I'm back in the swing of things.**

 **I've decided to match the pace of the story to the pace of the Company, so it'll speed up after the Shire. If anyone wants to complain and ask me to change things up specifically, please do.**

 **Thanks!**


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